


nulla misericordia

by handydandynotebook



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/F, Rough Kissing, Violence, inappropriate use of nunchucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:13:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28592316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handydandynotebook/pseuds/handydandynotebook
Summary: “Aww, LaRusso, are you going to cry?”Sam shudders under her and just like that, breaks down sobbing. Tears flood down her cheeks. Her bloodied bottom lip quivers. Small, hurt noises bubble up her throat one after the other. Tory’s eyes slide to the nunchaku, sprawled but not forgotten on the floor.“Well, if you’re gonna cry…I might as well give you something to cry about.” Tory releases Sam’s wrist and reaches for the weapon, closing her fingers around one handle.
Relationships: Samantha LaRusso/Tory Nichols
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	nulla misericordia

**Author's Note:**

> i feel so hypocritical posting this bc i actually hate when ppl exaggerate tory's villainy. i do, i stg, tory is a child forced to provide and juggle responsibilities that would be difficult for most adults. she's hardly evil incarnate smh.
> 
> so i am defo sitting here feeling like a hypocrite, posting a fic that exaggerates her villain tenancies BUT her obsession with destroying sam is srsly rly hot and i'm a thirsty ghoul, so. here's a fucked up version of the s3 fight where tory actually hits sam instead of mr. miyagi's picture.

Tory is only a novice when it comes to nunchaku. If Sam was acting like herself, she’d have called her on her bluff. But she isn’t. She’s cowering and shrinking away and it’s embarrassing, honestly. The formidable opponent who sent Tory over the railing during the school brawl is nowhere to be seen, replaced by this pitiful shivering kitten of a girl. How disappointing. 

“Where are you gonna go, LaRusso?” Tory challenges, whipping the handle through the air. 

Sam’s arms shoot up to block her face. It strikes her forearm right below the hand and she cries out in pain, arm dropping to her side. 

Tory licks her lips and draws the weapon back, using her hips to put all her power behind the next strike she aims toward Sam’s head. Frightened blue eyes flash right before it makes contact with her temple. Flecks fly from her bloody lip as her head snaps to the side. She stumbles sideways, disoriented. 

“C’mon, princess, this is just pathetic.” Tory swiftly hooks her foot around the back of Sam’s wobbly knee and she collapses like a prodded house of cards. “Where did all your fire go?” 

Tory kicks her while she’s down, directly in the solar plexus. Sam sinks even lower on her hands and knees as this enormous throaty sucking sound tears from her throat, breath catapulted right from her lungs. Tory relishes in it. She kicks her a second time, in the shoulder, unbalancing her. A third time directly under, sending her onto her back. 

Sam’s head thunks loudly against the wood floor, eyelids fluttering. Tory stomps on Sam’s stomach with all of her weight and her head snaps up again, thin cry warbling past her teeth. It falls back once more and her hands clutch at her middle. 

“How far the mighty have fallen,” Tory remarks, twirling her nunchaku through the air. 

“You win,” Sam gasps out, deep violet blooming on her temple, eyes wet. “You win, Tory, you win, I lose.” 

“This isn’t a tournament, Sweet Samantha,” Tory sneers venomously. She flips a handle back. Lowers the weapon to her side as she lowers herself to kneeling. “We aren’t competing.” 

Sam rolls onto her side, trying to curl inward. Tory doesn’t let her. She seizes her shoulder and jerks her back where she was. Sam draws her leg up, probably to kick, but she is still disoriented, movements sloppy. Tory cracks her directly in the knee with the nunchaku and feels the strike reverberate though the joint all the way up her own arm, tingling and satisfying. 

Sam lets out a sharp animal noise as her leg instantly drops back to the floor. Now her arm soars up, aimed toward Tory’s chin. Heel of her hand only lands a glancing blow before Tory drops her weapon and seizes the limb in a lock. She twists Sam’s wrist precariously, holding it just on the edge of the danger zone while she smashes her face into the floor with her opposite hand. 

“You want me to break it?” Tory taunts. “Maybe it’ll be your penance, for hiding like a little mouse while Hawk broke Demetri’s.” 

“T-Tory, please!” Sam nearly screams, choked with desperation. “Don’t! Tory, don’t!” 

“No mercy.” Tory smirks as she wrenches past the resistance of the locked joint, a loud pop sounding in the air. She can feel crepitus crackling beneath the other girl’s warm skin. 

Now Sam screams for real, the loud piercing shriek of a juvenile rodent in a cobra's mouth. 

“It’s not the first time I’ve done a number on this arm, is it?” Tory teases darkly. “Let’s see what’s under this jacket.” 

Sam snivels into the floor as Tory wrestles her arm out of the sleeve. The swelling is rapid, nearly immediate and that makes it harder to get the fabric off but Tory manages. She rolls up the other, shorter sleeve of Sam’s striped shirt beneath and reveals three smooth scars sliced into the skin of her upper arm, hairless and shiny. 

“Oh, look at that. I can still feel it, y’know.” Tory traces the scars with gentle fingertips. “Slicing into your skin.” 

Sam gasps out against the wood and sucks in a deep, snotty breath. 

“Miguel,” she screeches as loud as she can, decibels tearing through Tory’s eardrums. “Miguel! Miguel!” 

“Shut up!” Tory drives a fist under her chin. Sam’s jaw clicks shut, teeth clacking together. “He’s not going to save you, no one is coming to save you! Not Miguel, not your dad.” 

Tory climbs off Sam and hurries to the dojo doors. She pulls them shut and retreats to the girl she left on the floor. “It’s just you and me now, LaRusso. I can do whatever I want with you.”

Sam pitifully rolls onto her knees and uninjured arm. The knee Tory struck falters under her weight when she begins to crawl and the weakest sound slips past her lips as she sinks lower to the wood. Tory kicks her onto her back again with no flare, harshly grinds the heel of her shoe into the smooth slope of Sam's clavicle just because she can. 

Staring down at Sam like this, Tory can’t deny she’s beautiful. She looks every bit the princess she is, button nose, delicate features, high, proud forehead. She can understand why Miguel fell so hard, why Tory couldn’t be enough for him. Why he kissed Sam again as soon as he got the chance. Maybe Tory even wants to kiss her too. 

She decides she will and gets down again, straddling Sam’s lap. She leans in and furiously crushes their mouths together. Sam’s lips are warm and metallic with blood, salty with tears. It isn’t much of a kiss, all one-sided, Sam’s mouth rigid under hers. 

Tory keeps kissing her anyway. She slips her hand under Sam’s shirt, crawls under the elastic tightness of her sports bra. Rolls her thumb over her nipple because she can and slides her tongue past her teeth. Sam twitches under her and bites down. 

Tory gasps, jerking back. Sam’s teeth scrape furrows into her tongue as Tory disengages. Sapphire fires glare up at her and Sam bucks her hips up suddenly. Unbalanced, Tory topples forward, slamming her hands down before her forehead can hit the wood. The shock of it stings through her palms. Sam tries to shrimp out from under her but she is slowed by pain and Tory rapidly pushes back from the floor, uprighting herself atop the other girl’s body before she can make another move. 

Tory snatches her broken wrist and gives it an angry squeeze. Sam yelps like a kicked Pomeranian. 

“Let go!” 

Tory sneers as she stubbornly tightens her grip and stretches Sam’s arm out all the way to once again survey the scars she left in her skin. Unmistakable, shiny hairless flesh. Three gashes scarred over. They’re awful. Sam will carry Tory in her flesh forever and it is as beautiful as it is awful. 

“No,” Tory says simply, bowing over her. 

She kisses the underside of Sam’s arm, softly peppering her lips up and down the skin. She licks over the scars with the very tip of her smarting tongue, leaving smears of her own blood. Tory's marks are forever slashed into Sam's skin and she lets herself embrace it, lets herself fucking thrive on the dark satisfaction.

“What do you want?” Sam pleads, watery with defeat. “What the hell is wrong with you?” 

“You don’t know the half of it, princess,” Tory huffs and straightens herself “I have problems you could never wrap your spoiled rotten mind around.” 

Sam attempts to jerk her injured wrist free of Tory’s grasp in a rapid windmill motion. It proves to be a poor move on her part. Her face crumples in pure agony and Tory does not let go. 

“Aww, LaRusso, are you going to cry?” 

Sam shudders under her and just like that, breaks down sobbing. Tears flood down her cheeks. Her bloodied bottom lip quivers. Small, hurt noises bubble up her throat one after the other. Tory’s eyes slide to the nunchaku, sprawled but not forgotten on the floor. 

“Well, if you’re gonna cry…I might as well give you something to cry about.” Tory releases Sam’s wrist and reaches for the weapon, closing her fingers around one handle. 

“It’s not fair, LaRusso. None of it is.” Tory draws back and her eyes fall to Sam’s jeans. “I’m so fucking sick of everything. Especially your pretty little face.” 

She rocks back and unbuttons them. Sam gasps between her sobs. Tory sidles backward a little bit more and sets the nunchaku aside again as she unzips the fly. She isn’t sure where the idea comes from, exactly. But she is here and she has it in her head now. 

She wrests the denim down Sam’s hips, revealing bubblegum pink underwear. Hideous. 

Sam flings her good hand out but Tory’s shifted too far out of range to land a proper strike. She catches the other girl's fingers midair. 

“Do you want matching casts?” she proposes like a dare, smiling cruelly. 

The fight evaporates from Sam’s face. Her eyes empty as she goes slack in Tory’s grasp, gaze as dead as a salmon on a platter. Tory releases her hand and Sam slowly curls it toward her chest instead of striking out again. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

Tory tugs Sam’s jeans further down, gets them around her ankles so the fabric won’t restrict her when she does— well, what she’s going to do. 

“Honestly, Sam,” Tory sighs, yanking the bubblegum underwear down her hips. “You’re so pretty, why do you have such ugly panties?” 

Sam predictably, does not answer. Her dead fish eyes bore into the wall above, at a picture of some old Asian guy. Tory beholds her cunt, mostly bald save for a few nicks and short, pokey hairs she must’ve missed shaving. 

She lifts Sam’s leg, sliding the other girl’s knee over her own shoulder. The joint is splotched purple where Tory had struck it. Sam’s eyes flutter shut. 

She’s smart. She doesn’t fight Tory anymore. She’s as pliable as putty and Tory takes pleasure in this, in having the bitch who got her expelled entirely at her mercy. And of course, Tory has no mercy to spare.

Strike first. Strike hard. No Mercy. 

She grips one nunchaku handle and experimentally pushes it past Sam’s entrance. Sam’s lips part with a pitiful, exhausted pule. 

“It’s your fault,” Tory tells her as she begins thrusting. “You’re the one who fucked with me first.” 

She can feel the tightness of Sam’s cunt around the weapon. Her juices begin to seep around the thrusts, moist sounds squelching into the air. 

“You’ve been fucking with me since we met.” Tory inhales, exhales, continues thrusting. “Pretty, privileged princess, staring down your snobby little nose at me.” 

The more she thinks about it, the angrier she gets. She thrusts the nunchaku in and out of Sam’s pussy and it’s like the very action stokes the coals inside of her. Stirs up the rage that’s never ever left, some of it earnestly directed toward Sam and the rest of it simply embodied by everything she is. 

Tory’s fury fuels her thrusts and she just keeps going, pumping in and out of Sam’s cunt with an unforgivable force. The handle’s so slick, it’s seeping past Tory’s knuckles. There’s a smell in the air now, human and heady. Sam’s heel bounces harmlessly against her back as she picks up the pace. 

“I can’t even go back to school now,” she snarls in ire and frustration. “You sent me over the stairs and I’m the one who can’t go back to school! What the fuck is up with that!?”

At some point, Tory draws blood. It wets her knuckles as she carries on thrusting, smearing them red. Sam makes more sounds, wounded and pathetic in between her increasingly rapid breaths. 

“And you don’t even need to go to school! You have dear old dad’s money to keep you afloat! And what do I have?” 

Sam’s eyes rove to Tory as her chest heaves up and down, still empty. 

“What the fuck do I have, huh!?” Tory grinds her teeth, seething and thrusting as hard as she can, Sam’s heel bouncing even faster, harder against her back. 

This. This is what she has. A strong technique and merciless rage. It’s all she has, the only things she has for herself. These are the only pieces she can hold onto for her own sake. She has to give up everything else, dedicate the rest of what she is to her family, to keeping them together even as the whole wide world tries to tear them apart. 

Tory isn't sure exactly how long she fucks Sam with the nunchaku. She stops only when her arm gets tired. She needs to save that arm for Cobra Kai, quite literally cannot afford to strain it. By now, surely the princess has learned her lesson. Tory pulls the weapon free and shoves Sam’s leg off her shoulder. It hits the wood with a soft thud. 

Tory gets to her feet. She fishes her phone from the pocket of her skeleton jacket and thumbs the camera app open. She angles it just right to truly capture the moment. Sam sprawled across the floor of her dad’s personal dojo, wavy brunette mane swept behind her badly bruised head, legs spread, folds of her cunt glistening with fluid and blood. She’s still wearing that dead fish expression, tear stains dry on her cheeks under the blankest eyes Tory has ever known. Lips quivering like cover petals in a spring breeze and caked with blood at the corner. 

“Looking picture perfect, princess,” Tory drawls as she snaps the photo. 

She pockets her phone, flips up her hood, and leaves Sam for whoever cares to find her. Probably Miguel.

**Author's Note:**

> once again my horny brain overrides my wholesome brain smdh.


End file.
